


Chained To My Heart

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: Clint Barton Bingo [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Apologies, Deaf Clint Barton, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, Hallucinations, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Past Torture, Sign Language, probably smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-04-12 14:10:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: Sick of their constant fighting after it almost ruins a mission, Steve takes action and handcuffs Bucky and Clint together in the hopes that it will force them to sort out their issues. As the week goes on, it turns out that their issue isn’t so much that they hate each other. Rather, quite the opposite…





	1. Chapter 1

“Enough!” Steve yelled, slamming his shield down so hard that it cracked the bench in half. Clint instinctively drew an arrow and Bucky pulled his arm back, ready to punch hard. Adrenaline from the mission was still flooding everyone’s systems and they were all on edge so bickering was to expected but the tension in the Qiunjet was at unprecedented levels and the Captain had had enough.

Staring his friends down, Steve hissed, “I have had it up to here with you two. You need to sort out whatever issues you have and you need to do it before I bash your heads together. You’re lucky that we made it out of this alive. Next time we might not be so lucky and the entire team’s blood will be on your hands.”

Both men lowered their weapons, shoulders slouching forward as they took the well deserved brunt of Steve’s post battle aggression. They muttered their apologies but it wasn’t enough. This constant bickering had been going on for months now and a half hearted “sorry” didn’t cut it anymore.

“It’s too late for that now,” Steve said. He reached up and grabbed something from a locker overhead. Crossing the Quinjet, he clicked the handcuffs into place to join the pair together at the wrists.

“What in the hell are you playing at, Cap?” Clint asked. He tugged at the handcuffs, annoyed to find that they were made of the same super strength material that was used to bind the worst of their enemies.

Bucky took a step towards Steve, earning a frustrated grunt from Clint as he dragged him along behind him. “You can’t be serious, Steve. I don’t do well in handcuffs.”

“And I don’t do well with your constant arguing,” Steve bit back. Running a hand through his hair, exhaustion seeping into his expression, he said, “Look. You’ve given me no other option here. You two need to learn to work together and this week will help you do it.”

Clint’s eyes widened. “Whoa there, Captain, what do you mean a week?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“Steve…”

“No. End of discussion.” Under Steve’s intense glare, Clint and Bucky’s arguments dried up and they sighed in unified defeat. Steve was a stubborn man, he always had been, and they knew that nothing they could say would change his mind about this “team building exercise”.

However, just because they had to spend the week handcuffed together didn’t mean they had to like it. All three men knew that the moment the cuffs were released that Bucky and Clint would be shoving Steve in to the training room to beat his ass to a pulp in what would likely be the best show of teamwork between them in all the years they’d known one another. Until that glorious day, though, they were stuck together in this hell.

***

Being handcuffed to a friend is fun. It’s like a giant adventure, the two of you against the world. Laughing and joking as you fumble around until you finally manage to coordinate your limbs and feel the rush at succeeding over the smallest tasks. The best part of all is that, when the amusement wears off, you can unclip yourself and go your separate ways before it gets ugly.

Being handcuffed to a teammate who you can barely stand, however, is not so fun.

Every grievance is amplified because there is no opportunity to walk away from it and calm down in private. Aggression is heightened. Tempers spike when things don’t go to plan. The simplest thing, like making a cup of coffee, becomes almost impossible with another, unwanted pair of limbs to contend with. And something as mundane (yet necessary) as going to the bathroom is not a pleasant experience at all.

Unsurprisingly, the first 24 hours of Clint and Bucky being handcuffed together brought everyone in the Compound ten steps closer to killing each other and even Steve began to question whether or not this was a good plan after all.

Instead of addressing their issues, the men’s bickering reached an all time high. Clint complained about how stupidly long Bucky’s stride was and pointed out that the toaster would still provide him with toast without needing to be threatened by the ‘murder strut’. Bucky moaned about how Clint’s never ending, completely pointless babbling gave him a migraine.

Neither slept that first night. That wasn’t necessarily strange behaviour - both men had a long history of insomnia, like every other tortured soul in the Compound - but it was unusual the day after a hard mission. On most occasions, the team would go their separate ways as deal with the horrific events of a battle in their own way and then sleep off the negativity. However, chained to one another, neither Bucky nor Clint were privy to that usual privacy and were both equally uncomfortable sharing their own rituals with the other.

So, they made themselves comfy - as comfortable as you can be when handcuffed to another person - and distracted themselves the best they could, reading or watching TV without taking any of it in, until morning came.

“Need coffee,” Clint grumbled, rolling backwards over the edge of the sofa and tugging Bucky behind him. In anyone else, the maneuver would almost certainly have torn apart every muscle in their shoulder but Clint’s body was a strange marvel of nature. He barely seemed to notice the awkward angle at which his arm now hung behind his back, half asleep as he was.

“You had some an hour ago,” Bucky groaned, following his teammate regardless. He wasn’t happy about trailing Clint round like some lapdog on a leash however he knew well enough how cranky Clint could get without caffeine. It was frustrating but better for everyone’s sake if he just gave in to the man-child.

“I’m hungry, too.”

“Good for you,” Bucky said, perched stoically against the countertop as they waited for the machine to go ding. “Do you expect me to do something with this information?”

“Hoped you’d make me some breakfast,” Clint answered truthfully.

“Why would I do that?”

“Yeah, you’re right. You never do anything for anyone else, do you? It’s only ever Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. You do what you want and then crawl back into the shadows so that you don’t have to look at the fallout of your actions. God forbid you do something nice for someone, like a decent person might.”

Something inside of the soldier snapped at his words. Exhaustion, lack of alone time to deal with the intense emotions from the mission and a deeply intense dislike for the man before him pushed Bucky over the edge. He shoved Clint by the shoulders, his blood boiling in his veins when the bird-man just bounced back towards him because of the stupid metal chain that bound them together.

A stupid smirk on Clint’s face, he stepped right in to Bucky’s personal space and said, “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

That wouldn’t stop Bucky from trying, though. With his free, arm, thanking Steve for choosing to put the handcuff on his flesh wrist instead of his metal one, he punched Clint in the gut. Bucky stood sternly as Clint sunk to his knees, gasping for air, not foolish enough to believe that pain would stop the other man from striking back.

He was right to be wary. Through gritted teeth, Clint slammed his elbow into Bucky’s shin and rolled to the side with an unexpected speed. Bucky stumbled forward and crashed into the kitchen island, leaving a thick dent where his metal palm smashed into the stone countertop.

Separated by the island enough that neither could attack the other, both stood their ground and waited for a moment to attack. Of course, neither got to make one as Steve and Sam chose then to come down for breakfast before their early morning run.

The Captain took one look at his handcuffed friends, frothing at the mouth like rabid dogs about to bite one another’s ears off, and sighed. It was too early to be truly furious with them but Steve’s anger was already rising. “I told you two to work it out.”

“It’s not my fault! He punched me with that fucking metal arm -”

“He started it.”

“Me? You were the one that -”

“Enough! I can’t deal with you two right now.” Steve yelled, slamming his fist down the kitchen counter hard enough to crack. He grabbed an energy bar from the cupboard, all but tearing the door off its hinge, then stormed out the room.

Sam sighed and said, “Thanks, guys. Now I can look forward to being lapped at least twice as much as often while he works through this great mood. Why can’t you two just stop being dicks to each other? For my sake?”

“Because we don’t like you,” Clint said, softening around his friend. The two trained regularly together and actually had a fair amount in common but, as with everyone, Clint’s default setting was sarcasm. Thankfully, Sam could take it far better than Bucky could or he might have found himself handcuffed along with them.

A little more serious in his dislike of Sam than Clint, Bucky grumbled, “Finally, something we can agree on. You’re a dick, Wilson.”

“I hate you both. Maybe if we’re lucky you’ll kill each other and I can finally have some peace around here.“ Sam grabbed his protein shake from the fridge and headed after Steve.

“I hope you trip over your shoelaces and fall into the lake!” Clint yelled but Sam was either already too far down the corridor to hear or too mature to bother responding. His earlier animosity forgotten, Clint grabbed the hot coffee pot from the side and turned to head towards his room. However, a sharp tug on his wrist reminded Clint that he couldn’t go anywhere without Bucky, no matter how much he wanted to.

Recognising that look, it being one he received a little too often from Phil or Natasha after he’d said or done something out of line, Clint rolled his eyes and muttered, “I’m a terrible person when I don’t get my coffee. You know that.”

It wasn’t an apology by any standards but it was the best that Bucky was going to get - especially after that gut punch. He really hadn’t held back and Clint was sure he’d feel that for weeks. Still, it seemed to be enough as Bucky huffed a quiet response, grabbed his book from the sofa arm and let Clint drag him back to his room.

The coffee was almost gone by the time they arrived and, bizarrely, Clint was more tired than before. Without a word, he crawled on to his bed, rolled on to his side, his back to the larger man, and was snoring within two minutes. All the while, still hugging the warm coffee pot like it was a childhood bear.

With little other choice in the matter, Bucky made himself as comfortable as possible and continued reading his book. Every now and then, though, he found his attention drifting to the sleeping lump beside him, ~~admiring~~ studying the view.

Clint’s cheeks were slightly flushed, the soft redness creeping up his neck all the way to his ears. His long eyelashes fluttered against the delicate skin as he dreamt. Slow breaths fell from his slightly parted lips, the first time Bucky didn’t find Clint’s mouth so annoying. 

He looked so peaceful. One could even say beautiful. It would be so easy for Bucky to just reach out and run his fingers over that sharp jawline, to wrap his hand around that neck and squeeze the life from his lungs. All his problems would be over like that. Well, aside from being handcuffed to a dead body. That might be a slight problem but it could be remedied easily enough.

For some reason, though, Bucky couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

Steve. It had to be Steve. He would never forgive Bucky if he actually went through with his threats and murdered Clint just to get a good night’s sleep. That was definitely it. No other reason at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Day 2 of being handcuffed to each other was slightly more successful. For some reason, Bucky had felt relaxed - safe - enough to fall asleep beside Clint the night before. He put it down to exhaustion. Nothing more. Definitely not the gentle, calming rhythm of Clint’s soft snoring or the comfort of having a solid body beside him in the bed. A ~~beautiful~~ body he knew wouldn’t so easily break if he had an episode during the night.

Either way, the rest - and the seemingly unending stream of coffee that followed - did the pair good. Their fuses weren’t so short and they even managed to make it through breakfast without insulting each other.

It wasn’t completely smooth sailing, though. Changing clothes had proven to be quite the difficult task when there was no way to get into or out of their shirts without cutting or tearing the seams. With little other choice, the men each selected a few sacrificial tops to rip apart and settled on walking around the Compound looking like a right pair of idiots.

Getting dressed wasn’t the only area where they had problems. Training was a disaster. Handcuffed together, their movements were severely limited. For every step Bucky tried to take left, Clint would take one right and neither would move. They were constantly in each other’s way and every failed attack increased their annoyance tenfold.

By the fifth attempt, they had begun to realise that actually communicating with one another made fighting one handed far easier and, in a move that shocked everyone in the gym, Clint and Bucky stumbled into a scary synchronicity which allowed them to dodge Cap’s attacks and bring him down in record time.

Steve gave them no time to revel in their victorious fluke. He pushed himself to his feet and sent Natasha into the ring to take his place. She immediately leapt into action.

Clint swung his bow at Natasha but hadn’t taken into account his limited range of movement and instead the edge of the bow found its mark on Bucky’s face instead. The soldier hissed at the sharp pain erupting across his cheek and shoved Clint as far away as the damn handcuffs would allow.

“Sorry, sorry!” Clint mumbled. He stretched the cuff of his shirt over his hands and reached up to wipe the blood from Bucky’s cheek. Clint’s touch was too gentle for the training room, his fingers shaking against Bucky’s marred cheek with more than adrenaline. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, not fear that Bucky would hurt him for his clumsiness but in another, deeper way entirely. “My fault.”

“Yeah. Your fault,” Bucky replied softly.

The tender moment was torn away by Natasha pushing off the wall and wrapping her legs around Clint’s neck, flipping him over and bringing him down with practised ease. That in turn had Bucky tumbling down, too, unable to keep himself steady on his feet with such force pulling on his good shoulder.

As he fell, Bucky was whacked in the head by not one, not two, but three elbows. For all the benefits, his super soldier physiology did nothing to dull the pain he felt and the multiple blows left him momentarily dazed.

He hit the ground with a thud, vaguely aware that the crash mat felt lumpier than usual. It didn’t normally wriggle beneath him, either. And it certainly never sounded like Clint. “Ugh! Get off me!”

Bucky rolled off of Clint, grumbling once again how stupid this idea of Steve’s was. Unfortunately, he heard Bucky’s complaints and immediately launched into a star spangled rant. “There are going to be times when you’re in the field and you’re restrained and can’t rely on your usual techniques. Both of you are a part of a team and you have to learn how to work together to be more effective fighters. You never know what we’ll be up against.”

“Working together is one thing, Steve. It’s another being handcuffed to a 230 pound idiot who knocks every hit off target.”

“Yeah?” Clint huffed. “Well, if you had a beefy, greasy bastard chained to your wrist then your shots would go wide too.” 

Shaking her head, Natasha grabbed Steve by the wrist and pulled him towards the door before he leapt into the ring to throttle them both. “You two are idiots, you know that right? If you don’t know how to deal with your emotions like grown men, fight each other and don’t take it out on us. God, it’s like living with children. Except at least they’d know what they wanted!”

The door slammed shut behind them, leaving Clint and Bucky both feeling a little confused. Despite technically knowing Natasha for longer - The Soldier had taught her in the Red Room, after all - Bucky didn’t know Natasha anywhere near as well as Clint did. Glancing between the door and the archer, he asked, “That was weird, right?”

“I mean, people call me an idiot a lot so not that strange,” Clint said.

Whether Clint had meant it as a barb or not, Bucky glanced down at the ground, already regretting the outburst. While it was true that Clint could be a clumsy pain in the ass, he was far from stupid and didn’t need the constant jabs at his fragile self esteem.

Not allowing Bucky time to apologise, Clint shook his head and the silent message was clear: please, just don’t. His blue eyes hardened when Bucky met his gaze. He cocked his head to the side, building a protective wall of sarcasm around him. “But yeah, that wasn’t subtle of Nat. Bet she and Cap are gonna go do some wrestling of their own.”

“What?”

“Naked wrestling. Horizontal tango. Bumping uglies. Come on, you know?” Bucky did know and he really wished that he could escape this conversation. The last thing he needed to imagine was two of his best friends being intimate. And yet Clint seemed to want him to do just that, for the euphemisms just kept on coming. “Hide the cannoli. Sinking the sausage. Glazing the doughnut.”

“Please stop.”

“I’ve got loads more.”

“I’m sure but I’d appreciate if you avoided ruining every food for me.” Tugging Clint to the side of the room so that he could get a drink - sadly the strong stuff necessary for forgetting this entire conversation was back in his room - Bucky asked, “You really think that Natasha and Steve…?”

Clint shrugged. “Probably. Not really my business. It’s all just stress relief anyway. Doesn’t mean anything between friends.”

Not entirely convinced by the explanation - he sensed that Clint was either searching for a deeper connection or was maybe even jealous that his closest friend had found one - but unable to find any real fault in the logic either, Bucky asked, “Do you, you know… Stress relief? With Natasha? Or anyone?”

“You’re incredibly cute when you’re being awkward, has anyone ever told you that?” Completely unexpectedly, Clint leant over and pressed a kiss to the tip of Bucky’s nose. He gave no explanation, didn’t even pause to allow Bucky time to stutter or shout or be outraged or have any real reaction at all. He just pulled him to his feet and motioned to the mat as if nothing had happened.

Too shocked by the soft action, Bucky followed suit and mindlessly worked through the drills with Clint as his mind raced. It didn’t mean anything. It was just a little kiss. Clint was overly affectionate with a lot of people. He flirted with everyone. Hell, he’d flirt with the coffee machine if he thought it would make it brew faster. So why did Bucky think it did matter? Why did he even care?

This had to be nothing more than an attempt to get under his skin. A new way to piss him off and drive him crazy without Steve noticing. After all, he was always insisting that the two men got along better and became close friends instead of arguing all the time. That had to be it. A mind game. Of course. Clint was good at those.

However, the more he thought about it the less likely it seemed. Clint was a lot of things but a manipulator wasn’t really one of them. He much preferred to step back and let other people do that kind of work. So, it had to be something else.

What had Natasha said? Something about feelings and wants. Surely, she hadn’t meant to insinuate that he and Clint… That Bucky actually desired him… It wasn’t like Bucky didn’t know Clint was attractive. He was. Incredibly. And yeah he was annoying sometimes all the time but he was also hilariously funny and had the softest heart of the entire team.

All those times they’d fought, shouted and torn into each other. Shoved each other around and pushed the other against the walls, pinning them down with their entire body until they submitted. Had all of that been motivated by something other than hatred? Was Natasha right?

He didn’t hate Clint. He didn’t hate him at all. He loved him.

That changed everything.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky was starting to see why it was so nice to wake up with someone else. At some point during the night, he and Clint had migrated from their strictly designated sides of the bed and met in the middle. It was, surprisingly, most pleasant. A warm body that fit perfectly with his, pressed against his chest, not having to face the harsh morning light alone. He could certainly get used to it. 

The clock on the bedside chimed gently, warning Bucky that if he didn’t get up soon that Sam would undoubtedly barge in and drag him out on their weekly run. He figured that it wouldn’t be too difficult to get out of, though, with Clint literally chained to his side. Details of Steve’s punishment/experiment had spread quickly through the team, even the ones who currently didn’t live on site, and Bucky was fairly sure that their entirety of SHIELD, right down to the interns whose only job was to fetch coffee, knew about it. 

Instead of fretting, Bucky just hit the snooze and rolled back over to face Clint. He was so peaceful, his features soft in the morning sun. Bucky’s gaze lingered over the gentle curve of his mouth, his pink lips slightly parted as he slept. There was something beautiful about the vulnerability. Clint hid behind a mask of sarcasm and humour but there was a sadness, a brokenness to him that Bucky had always related to - even when he’d denied ever having anything in common with the archer. Now, sleeping and free of that facade, Bucky felt like he was seeing the real Clint for the first time and he was quite taken with what he saw. 

Driven by a desire he didn’t want to control, even though he knew deep down he should stop himself before things got complicated, Bucky pushed up onto his side and drew his finger gently over Clint’s jaw, the uneven stubble prickly beneath his touch. Clint stirred but didn’t pull away from the touch. He actually leant into it, smiling softly as he stared up into Bucky’s eyes. “Mmm, feels nice,” he hummed happily. “You’re sexy in the morning.”

“What?”

Clint shot upright, suddenly aware of what he’d said. His cheeks glowing a gentle pink, a sight Bucky found, quite frankly, adorable, he rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, “Nothing.”

“Coffee?”

He shook his head and pulled the quilt up to his shoulders, rolling back and forth until he had managed to cocoon himself in the warmth. “Your bed is too comfy to leave.”

“You’re no good without your coffee and I’ve got things to do today. We have to get up eventually.”

“Hmmm. True,” Clint conceded. “There’s a kettle under the bed.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Yeah, there is.”

Bucky reached under the bed and found it there as promised. He opened his mouth to ask how and why the hell but faltered, eventually deciding against asking. It was probably best not to know how Clint had smuggled a kettle into his room without his noticing. 

“There’s a pot of coffee ground in the bottom drawer. Don’t look at me like that. I have provisions in everyones’ rooms. You never know where you’ll be when you need a caffeine hit.”

Biting back a smile, Bucky asked, “You hide a mug in here too?”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m not that weird. Just put the coffee grounds in with the water and I’ll drink it straight out the kettle.”

“You are a disgusting human, you know?” Clint hummed in acknowledgement. “Well, we still need to get up so I can fill the kettle.”

“But bed…” 

Thankfully - if it can be considered so - Bucky found half a bottle of water under his bed. He gave it a sniff and recoiled, horrified that water could possibly smell that way, and tried to convince Clint that it was only 12 steps to the bathroom (he knew, he’d memorised the distances between every part of his apartment) but the archer wasn’t convinced. Apparently the bed was just too comfortable. 

Uncertain of the logic that boiling the water and dumping in enough coffee to wire an elephant would solve their problem - perhaps it would solve one but there was clearly a lot more wrong with them both - Bucky followed Clint’s instructions anyway. It was difficult not to when he looked at Bucky with those big, sleepy blue eyes that shone like stars. 

As it boiled, the unmistakably bitter smell filled the room, tinged with an under note of what Bucky suspected was the internal wiring and mechanisms of the kettle shorting out. When it finally gave out, whether from finishing the boil or just quitting on life in general, Clint nearly leapt across the bed to grab it but Bucky held it just out of his reach. “You really want to drink this?”

“I really do. Give it me.”

“ _Please._ ”

Clint narrowed his eyes, curling his fingers into a fist as he fought the urge to leap across the bed and snatch the kettle. “I’m not a child.”

“Debatable.”

“Look, just give me the coffee and I’ll -“

“You’ll what?” Bucky smirked. 

There wasn’t anything Clint had to offer that Bucky really wanted, except maybe a kiss, but it was fun to tease the archer. Clint’s forehead crumpled and he pursed his lips, tapping his finger against Bucky’s chest as he wracked his brain for a suitable trade. His entire face lit up when something finally came to mind. “I won’t peak next time you pee?”

“You were before?” Bucky exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, soldier, you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.” A heat crept up Bucky’s neck and Clint wiggled his eyebrows in an utterly infuriating way. Bucky was fairly certain he was joking but this was Clint they were talking about. It would foolish to assume anything when it came to him. 

Shaking his head, Bucky shoved the kettle into Clint’s lap and grumbled, “Drink your damn poison.”

“Thank you,” Clint sung. He downed the boiling liquid without spilling a drop or screaming out as it no doubt burnt his insides, leaving Bucky to put genuine credence in the possibility that Clint was an alien. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he said, “We need to shower. I stink and I know I said you look sexy but you’re actually really greasy.”

“Uh… Thanks?”

“Any time. So. Shower. You wanna toss a coin for who goes first?”

“Have at it. You really do smell.”

Perched uncomfortably on the toilet, his arm aching as he stretched it out and held it near to the shower door, Bucky kept his gaze on the floor tiles. The glass door was well fogged up but didn’t completely obstruct Clint’s muscular body from view. One quick glance had been enough to leave Bucky awkwardly shifting in place; he didn’t want to risk another. 

Thoughts of Clint’s dripping wet body vanished when the archer’s quiet humming turned into a full on show tune. He was dancing around in the shower, tugging on Bucky’s wrist as he belted an incredibly off key version of I Wanna Dance With Somebody. Whether he’d forgotten that he had company in the bathroom or was simply just try to alleviate the tension in the small room, Bucky was grateful for the distraction. 

There was a bit of a faff as the men changed over. Bucky held out a towel for Clint and, adamant not to be caught staring at the way the water drops trickled down over Clint’s masterfully carved abs, he looked so far away that he tripped as he stepped into the shower. Luckily he managed to catch himself before he pulled them both down and hid his embarrassment with a quiet huff, which only made Clint laugh more. 

Bucky closed his eyes as the hot water relaxed his muscles, washing away his stress and soothing every inch of his body. With Clint’s random babbling on the other side of the door and the constant stream of warmth rolling over his skin, the shadows in his mind lost their hold enough for him to feel something akin to peace. 

However, Bucky had long since suspected that he was destined for nothing but pain and darkness. Every time he got close, it was torn away from him. Whenever things were going well, something would drag him ten steps back. Today was no exception. 

It was nothing more than the water suddenly running cold but it froze his blood. He felt the sharp jolt right down to his core, a shudder which rocked his entire body. He splayed his fingers on the wall, desperately trying to ground himself, but pressed so hard against the ceramic tiles that they cracked under the pressure. 

“You alright in there?”

The shower spluttered above him as the hot water kicked back in but he couldn’t feel the difference. All Bucky could feel was the chill spreading through his veins, the ice taking a hold of his heart as the cold, harsh memories of cryo took a hold of him. 

“Talk to me, Buck. What’s happening?”

Pain, unimaginable pain. Every cell in his body slowed to a halt. Every beat of his heart agonisingly fighting the ice cold claws which threatened to tear him apart as they dragged him under. They always said it was just like falling asleep but it felt more like dying. Over and over again. 

“I’m coming in.”

Success or failure, it didn’t matter; it always ended up back here. In the freezing cold, falling but never hitting the ground. He had learnt to adapt to most tortures HYDRA tossed his way but there was no escaping cryo. They were in complete control. He was trapped, on the verge of life and death with no hope.

“Hey, hey, it’s me. Look at me, Bucky. Come on. Look at me.”

Bucky hissed at the tightness around his wrist, the burning heat of their skin on his as someone dragged him out of the ice. He didn’t want to wake up. Cryo was an ordeal of unending suffering but waking up meant something infinitely worse. The chair. He would rather die than go back there. 

“It’s not real. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real. You are here with me. It’s Clint and you are here with me in the Avengers Compound. Bucky, please. God, I can’t do this. FRIDAY, get Steve. Get someone! I don’t know what to do!”

He couldn’t remember what happened or how he ended up in bed, bundled up in warm, fluffy blankets but still shivering. The fabric was soft against his skin and it smelt like coffee and… Just coffee, really. It wasn’t the harsh kind of smell that burned the back of his nostrils. It was soft and gentle, all encompassing like a hug from a friend. 

“Hey,” Clint whispered, his eyes droopy and bloodshot. His fingers twitched, reaching out to entwine with Bucky’s, but he hesitated and pulled away at the last second. Instead, he just pat the top of his hand and adjusted his position on the mattress to be sure the handcuffs weren’t digging in to Bucky’s wrist. “You’re awake.”

“Apparently.”

“Are you… Does anything hurt?”

“No more than usual.”

“I didn’t hurt you?”

Bucky frowned, the action only worsening the headache which was now threatening to tear his skull in two. The only thing that softened the pain was the gentle feel of Clint’s fingers in his hair, absentmindedly scratching his skull and easing the adjustment back into reality. “What happened?”

“In the shower, you went, I don’t know, catatonic. You weren’t responding and no one else was around to help so I just hauled your heavy ass out the bathroom and dumped you on the bed. I think you passed out. FRIDAY said you were okay so I’ve just, uh, been waiting for you to wake up. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Why did you think you’d hurt me?” A terrible thought occurred to Bucky. “I didn’t try to hurt you, did I? Because I’d never -“

“No, you’re fine. It’s just that, as I dragged you back in here, I might have hit your head on a few things. In my defence, you weigh a tonne. It’s all those super soldier muscles you have. Make you heavier than you look. So really it’s your own fault. Wait. No. I didn’t - I don’t mean -”

Without thinking, Bucky threw his arm around Clint and pulled him into a hug. He buried his face into the archer’s neck and heaved a sigh of relief when Clint got over his shock and returned the embrace. He ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, mumbling all manner of utterly ridiculous things but his tone was incredibly calming and he made Bucky feel safe. 

They eventually pulled apart and each turned away to hide their smiles. Bucky pushed himself off the bed, grateful that Clint was there to catch him as he wobbled. The blankets fell to the floor and Bucky scrambled to collect them before realising that he was clothed. 

He turned to Clint in confusion, searching the other man’s face for an answer. “I was in the shower.”

“Mmm.”

“And now I’m wearing pants.”

“Mmm.”

Bucky waited patiently for Clint to answer but the unspoken question but it soon became clear he would rather stand there and say nothing. Upon further prodding, he eventually threw his hands in the air and grumbled, “I thought you were dying, Buck! I didn’t want your ghost to be haunting the Compound with your junk hanging out for everyone to see. You know, people have said they thought you were packing the Crown Jewels but if they really knew -”

He suddenly wished he’d never asked in the first place. It was better when Clint didn’t try to lighten the mood with his weird sense of humour. “Please stop talking.”

“You asked. So, uh, coffee?”

“No arguments here. You deserve it.”

It broke Bucky’s heart a little to see Clint so genuinely surprised. He resolved to tell Clint at least once a day how great he was - maybe not outright like that, but let him now how he was appreciated - until he finally started believing it. Because he certainly didn’t seem to see his own worth now. “I do?”

“Sure. I’m okay now and it’s because of you. You were perfect.” Bucky found Clint’s hand and took the leap, his heart racing in his chest as he linked their fingers together. He gave a soft squeeze, a warmth spreading through his chest when Clint returned the simple gesture.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is left exhausted and irritable after his mental break and snaps at Clint. Feelings are confessed when he apologises for shouting.

Yesterday’s slip - that was what he was calling it: a slip, not the near and complete breakdown and loss of reality that everyone, including himself, knew it to truly be - was still weighing heavily on Bucky’s mind. He wasn’t lying to Clint or anyone else when he said he was fine however the slip had left him short tempered and on edge. The little things that he was usually able to block out were beginning to irritate him once again. 

He and Clint were sat in the common room, each occupied by their own tasks. Bucky had paperwork and mission reports to catch up on. They were tedious beyond belief and god he missed just being a soldier and having a commanding officer to deal with the bureaucracy but he didn’t want to risk getting on Fury’s bad side over a few easily filled out forms. 

Clint, on the other hand, was preoccupied with his video game. Unfortunately for Bucky, Clint was not the kind of gamer who sat still. No, he was the kind who got far too into the game play. Every other second he jumped up onto his feet, shouting at the TV and tugging on Bucky’s wrist which in turn scratched his pen across the paper and added to the growing collection of smudges. 

It was fine, Bucky told himself. It was his own fault for being old fashioned and filling in mission reports by hand instead of on the tablet he’d been gifted upon arrival. It wasn’t that he didn’t like technology; he loved it. It was just so exciting. Robots, AI, machines that did everything for you. It was like a dream. However, there was just something about the official SHIELD tablet that made him anxious. 

On a computer, files were so easily altered. Details could be changed. Systems hacked and information stolen. Despite paper being easier to destroy, there was less chance of his accounts being changed. Assuming they were legible. Which, thanks to Clint’s constant fidgeting, they were currently most certainly not. 

He mumbled a few times for Clint to sit still but he was like a hyperactive puppy at the park, pouting after being told not to chase the stick. Within a minute or two of each warning, Clint was once again overly invested in his game, waving his arms around, jumping off the sofa and being an all round annoyance to Bucky. 

“Seriously, Clint, I’m trying to work.” Bucky raked his metal hand through his hair, hissing when the strands got caught in the minuscule joints. It wasn’t that the sharp pain actually bothered him, his tolerance was incredibly - dangerously - high, just that he didn’t need another sign to prove that this really wasn’t his day. “Can you give it a rest for ten minutes?”

“It’s Thursday afternoon.”

“So?”

“I always play video games on Thursday afternoon.”

“Why?”

“My therapist told me to. He said I needed to take time to relax but the last time I tried that I fell into a depressive spiral and did some stupid things to deal with it. So the next time I saw him he suggested doing something active but not related to, well, all this shit. Video games are apparently a good way to take a step back and stop thinking plus they’re fun and I get to be a rainbow unicorn princess who kicks ass so you know. Dreams do come true.”

Bucky felt his righteous anger fade just a little. Clint often got carried away in conversation and had an annoying tendency to prattle way beyond the acceptable point but it was especially present when he tried to speak about his emotions or feelings. None of the team were particularly good at opening themselves up like that and all had defence mechanisms to cope. Clint’s was to joke and wander around the point, just like he was now.

Dragging his hand down his face, Bucky let out a deep breath and said, “I understand this is important. Really, I do. But I needed to get these done an hour ago and I can’t when you’re playing Fairy Princess Lily versus Legions of the Undead.”

“ _Rainbow Unicorn_ Princess Lily,” the archer corrected. 

“You’re missing the point, Clint.”

“Maybe you should take a break. You look stressed. I promise this will help.” Bucky began to protest but Clint spoke straight over him, babbling in earnest now. “You’re already late with the reports so another few hours isn’t gonna make a difference. And it’s not like Fury actually cares. He told me to stop writing them years ago. And you know, this game really is fun. I’m about to fight the evil witch who cast a curse over the kingdom and turned all the teddy bears into vicious, child eating monsters because, you see, Lily has a little sister and she wants to protect her and all the other kids in her kingdom like a good princess and -“

“Clint.”

“No, it’s really interesting! The witch’s castle is surrounded by a moat filled with killer piranhas and poisonous frogs but Lily can use her magical powers to fly over the water to safety. The once I’m inside all I have to do is find the source of the witch’s power and destroy it. I think it’s probably the shiny orb on the roof but it might be the black roses in the garden. You know, I’m starting to think that maybe Fury asked me to stop writing those reports because I never really took them seriously in the first place so you could always just do that and give him shit so he doesn’t ask you again.”

“Clint.” Bucky dug his fingers into the edge of the sofa. His head was pounding, unable or unwilling to process the utter nonsense that Clint was spouting. It filled him with frustration and if the archer didn’t stop talking right this second then it was going to explode out of him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

“Did I tell you about Lily’s dog? He’s super faithful and I think he might be able to breathe fire. I named him Lucky because I had this dog a long time ago who he reminds me of. Although my Lucky wasn’t pink and sparkly and he definitely didn’t breathe fire.”

“Shut up, Clint! I don’t care. No one cares about your stupid game or your dog or any of this pointless dribble. Do everyone a favour and just stop talking for once in your life so we can focus on something that is actually important.”

“Right. Sure. Sorry. My bad.”

The silence that followed was incredibly peaceful until it suddenly wasn’t. 

Bucky didn’t actually know how much time had passed. He’d gotten bogged down in the report and just when he thought he’d finally reached the end another pile of papers came over from HQ for him to sign. What was meant to be another 10 minutes had turned into hours, judging by how far the sun had moved around the building. 

All he knew was that the deadly silence had been perfect one moment but become thick and oppressive the next when he realised just how harsh he’d been to his team mate. He hadn’t meant to snap. Not at all, but with the slip yesterday and the headache and Clint’s non stop talking it had been too much and his frustration had gotten the better of him. 

The worst part? He hadn’t even realised Clint was upset. Bucky had been so thankful for the silence that he hadn’t noticed the impact his words had had. 

Steve was right. He really could be a jerk sometimes. 

Setting aside all the paperwork, Bucky turned to his teammate - who was still playing his game, just very still and very quiet - and bowed his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Clint. I didn’t mean to shout earlier.”

It took an embarrassingly long time to realise that Clint had taken his hearing aids out and wasn’t just ignoring the terrible apology. Bucky should have seen but at some point in the last hour the archer had found a hoodie and (after tearing off one arm) thrown it on, hiding under the dark fabric and refusing to meet his gaze. 

Bucky hoped to fix it with a peace offering of coffee and cake. However, getting up to grab it from the kitchen was impossible when Clint refused to move. He had joked before about having a lump on his arm but it really was impossible to do anything when Clint was actively fighting him. Or, more accurately, resisting. Nothing Bucky did earned him more than a brief moment of recognition and everything he said, or tried to say, went straight over the archer’s head. 

The afternoon progressed, the guilt over snapping at Clint became too much to bear. Bucky lightly tapped Clint on the shoulder, then a little harder when he didn’t respond. He shouldn’t have been surprised by the blank, emptiness of Clint’s stare but it still hurt. 

“I’m sorry.”

Clint said nothing. He just kept staring at Bucky, waiting for something more. That was fair. Bucky had been a dick and he was fooling himself if he thought that those two words would make everything better. 

So Bucky repeated himself, this time in sign. That certainly elicited a reaction from Clint, although not the one he’d expected. He’d hoped that Clint might smile or his blue eyes would soften in forgiveness. Anything other than frowning. 

“What?” Clint asked.

Slowly, taking care to make every sign as accurately and clearly as possible, Bucky explained, “I’m sorry I shouted at you. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

Ignoring the apology, which Bucky had to admit could have been a lot better, Clint asked accusingly, “When did you learn to sign?”

“I’ve been learning for about a year. FRIDAY teaches me.”

“Why… Why did you learn?”

“To talk to you. Mostly to insult you. I know a hundred ways to tell you that you suck. But it’s fun so I learned more.” Of course, it was more than that. Bucky could admit to himself now that he’d wanted to feel closer to Clint in a way that didn’t tip the balance. Learning ASL gave him a chance to get to understand the man without actually having to be brave and admit his true feelings. Now, though, the truth was out there - at least for Bucky - and he wanted, needed, to fix things with Clint before it was too late. “I really am sorry. I don’t hate you or your game. Yesterday took a big toll on me but that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have said any of that. It’s important to you, to your health, and I should have respected that.”

“Bucky…”

“No, please. Let me finish. I don’t hate you, Clint. I never have. I know it seems like it but I don’t. All this time,” Bucky faltered, his courage fading. However, it was too late to turn back. If he didn’t say it now he was sure he never would. “I wasn’t angry at you. Maybe a little because you can be annoying but Natasha was right before. I was really just angry at myself for not having the courage to do what I really wanted to do.”

“What… What do you want to do?”

Acting before the rational side of his brain could talk him out of it, Bucky shifted on the sofa and sacrificed his prized personal space to be nearer to the archer. Their legs bumped together as he brushed his fingers over Clint’s cheek, hand trembling with fear and excitement over finally doing this. He almost chickened out, expecting anger or disgust, but he found only desperation and desire in Clint’s expression. 

Bucky slid his fingers behind Clint’s neck and pulled him closer, neither daring to breathe and break the spell. Slowly, almost painfully, he brushed his lips over Clint’s. At first, it was just that. A soft, brief touch which barely counted as a kiss. Far too chaste for the heat burning inside them both. 

But then, somehow, he suddenly had Clint’s fingers tangled in his hair, a sharp, delightful pain on his skull as the archer tugged on his hair. Clint was in his lap, straddling his waist and trapping him against the sofa cushion with his thick, strong legs. The pair threw their inhibitions out the window as they grabbed at each other’s bodies, rutting against each other and pressing bruising kisses across one another’s skin. 

Clint was a good kisser. A great one, in fact. Bucky hadn’t had much practise in recent times (of course, he’d fooled around and had had one night stands; as Steve so often told people, he was a hundred, not dead) but it felt so natural with Clint, so right, that Bucky couldn’t imagine wasting his time kissing anyone else. Why would he when this felt so perfect?

All too soon they broke apart, or more accurately leapt apart. Thor came bounding round the corner, his pitchy whistling and heavy steps hiding their ragged breathing. Bucky and Clint shifted on the sofa, their trousers more than a little tight, and pretended to be interested in the TV which was, currently, showing only the Stark Industries logo; thankfully Thor paid them little attention, too lost in his own search for something to notice they were even in the same room.

 _I wanted to do that,_ Bucky signed after a moment. His mind was reeling and it took a few seconds to find the right words. He was vaguely aware of Thor rummaging through the drinks cabinet but couldn’t bear not to tell Clint how he was feeling. _I’ve wanted to for a long time._

 _I’m glad you did._ Clint signed back, tears in his eyes. The corner of his mouth turned up in a shy smile as he pointedly avoided staring at Bucky’s lap, honouring the unspoken mutual agreement to let this go for now. They both needed time to process this and jumping into something else would only cloud the issue (and neither were overly keen to proceed with the rest of the team wandering in and out of the common room as they were bound to do). _Thank you, Bucky._

Bucky wasn’t delusional enough to believe Clint was thanking him for the kiss. He understood what the archer couldn’t say. He just felt terrible that he had never realised how much it must mean to Clint for someone to go out of their way to communicate with him. Sure, the team knew basic ASL but only what was useful in the field. They had never tried to learn more for him. They had never made the choice. But Bucky had and it meant the entire world to Clint. 

That, and the way Clint was looking at him now, made all the effort worthwhile.


End file.
